


"For Brendon"

by blessedfetish



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, M/M, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 16:36:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessedfetish/pseuds/blessedfetish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You knew how it tore him apart. Shattered him from the inside out, into a million iridescent little shards, glistening with his own blood… he figured it out, how it’s so easy to break yourself down. How it’s so easy to break others down around you; you fall together. A chorus of descending, empty souls. He picked one of his own blood-tainted shards and proved that even something as precious as he was, could too be ephemeral.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"For Brendon"

Looking down, chancing one more glance at his beautiful face…

 

  
_He’s too pale…_

The eyelashes that cast a long shadow beneath his closed eyes that once would have been beautiful are now hideous. The beauty in it was its transience; his eyelids would have fluttered open a moment after casting the shadow for a millisecond, repetitively, until you learned to appreciate the wait in between blinks, appreciate his all-too-knowing complexity of the deep brown irises in between.

You could have done something. You knew… _You fucking knew._

You knew how it tore him apart. Shattered him from the inside out, into a million iridescent little shards, glistening with his own blood… he figured it out, how it’s so easy to break yourself down. How it’s so easy to break others down around you; you fall together. A chorus of descending, empty souls. He picked one of his own blood-tainted shards and proved that even something as precious as he was, could too be ephemeral.

The wound underneath the bandage on your wrist still aches. 

_Who would have thought you could have caused this? It’s all your fault. Monster. MONSTER!_

-

You thought it could have gone back to normal.

Hell, you thought it had.

You two spent eleven months and twenty-nine days after your hospital release acting normal, as if things had reverted to the way it had been; two boys, in love, facing the world together. One of them had problems. You never thought the other did, too.

The day of your year anniversary, you go to his house. 

The door is ajar.

You get worried; he never leaves the door unlocked.

You run in.

The bathroom door is also open. The bath is still running. You notice a faint dampness soaking through your shoes.

Look down. Your heart is racing, adrenaline flowing through your veins. Red. Fucking. Red.

Run in. Grab his wrist, still dangling over the edge, while the other is immersed in water. He’s naked. Pale. 

Like he’s lost too much blood. 

Pale and naked, something you once would have thought was utterly beautiful. Nothing prettier than the human body, completely vulnerable, pale as moonlight and perfect as a rose.

No one ever told you how numb you would get when you found the love of your life dead in a fucking bath tub full of ice cold water tinged red. You guess he would have known.

- 

You look down. You want to savor this image as much as you want to burn it, the last time you will ever see him. 

“Ryan, honey, do you have anything left to say?” Brendon’s mother says in a hoarse voice; she’s been crying for seventy-two straight hours. And it is all your fault.

You lean down; you’re close enough to smell the stench of death on his ice cold skin now. You press a dry, light kiss to his forehead and whisper in his ear, “Until the end of time, my love.”

The casket is closed. You take a rose from the top, step back, walk away and never look behind. 

You go home.

Run a tepid bath.

Pick your poison.

Opt for the fresh one, still shiny, like a new toy. 

Scrawl a sloppy note. “For Brendon” is all it says. All it needs to. 

Strip. 

  
_Why are you doing this?_

  
_Because I love him,_ you think.

You’re like a machine, at this point. What more is there to do?

Sink into the tub. 

Raise one wrist. _Slit._ Vertically, so as not to only injure yourself. You won’t fuck it up this time. 

Raise the other, peel off the bandage. _Slit._ Same art. 

Adrenaline. You’re woundupworriedeagerrelievedangryfuckingdepressedhappy all at once.

You feel your lungs cave in. Your vision starts to blur. 

  
_Why did you love him so? He did this to you. Why carry through?_

  
_I did it to him first,_ you retort. _We made a pact. I fucking promised him._

  
_Idiot. Fuck-up. Why couldn't you do it right the first time?_

  
_Because a little part of me had to hang on, you fucking asshole. Hang on for him,_ you snap.

  
_He didn't hang on for you. You made it out alive and now he’s dead. What’s that say about how much he cared for you?_

  
_A part of him died the moment he found me. I know he did. He was dead the year we spent during my recovery. He had to do it. Finish it. It’s okay. We’ll be together. Soon. Fuck off,_ you finish, arguing with yourself. 

Silence, save for the running water. 

A perfect reproduction. Except… this time? This time you won’t fuck it up. You won’t make it out alive. Because you don’t want to. There’s nothing tying you to this life anymore.

Whiteclearredpinkblack. 

Your heart is racing just before it starts to slow. 

Your breathing is labored; your lungs hurt.

You feel like your veins are going to jump right out of your wrists. If only. 

Your head falls back and the last physical thing of this life you see is the ceiling.

_What a beautiful life it’s been._


End file.
